


Actions Have Consequences

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Scent Kink, really it's just a john kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John catches Sherlock masturbating in his bed.  This is the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jinglebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinglebell/gifts).



Sherlock waited until John left for work before going into John’s bedroom. These little trips had become routine. It had started a few weeks before. Sherlock had been at his microscope. John had leaned over him to fetch the kettle, which put him in the vicinity of Sherlock’s nose.

He smelled incredible. Warm and masculine and a bit spicy, Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was John’s clothing or shampoo or cologne, but one whiff sent him from “curious” to “obsessed” in 0.2 seconds flat. The blood in his body dropped to fill his cock so quickly he felt dizzy. He may have whimpered a bit, if the curious glance John had thrown him was any indication. He wanted to bathe in the scent, roll around in it until it covered him, until it mingled with his own, until it marked him as John’s.

Of course, John could know none of this. That simply wasn’t on. Hence the daily trips to John’s bedroom. Specifically, to John’s bed. Thank God John was a bit crap about washing his sheets because his bed was a perfect breeding ground for that distinct _John_  smell. Sweat and musk, honey and sunshine, arousal and spunk and spice, and for a bit of time every day, it was all Sherlock’s.

Sherlock was aware that wanking in John’s sheets was more than a bit not good. He just couldn’t help himself. Sherlock knew he couldn’t have all of John. He could have friendship, companionship, adventure, (and the occasional heated glance if he wasn’t mistaken), but that’s as far as things went between them. He wasn’t exactly sure why, if he was being perfectly honest. John had moved back in a year ago. They talked more often and they laughed more than ever. They enjoyed each other’s company whether they were on a case, eating dinner, or watching one of John’s ridiculous films on the telly. The only waking hours they spent apart were the few hours a day John worked, and even that seemed like too much sometimes for the both of them. Sherlock could feel it in the way John would light up when he walked in the door, the weight of the day just melting off of him when he locked eyes with Sherlock. He felt a similar relief wash over him the moment he was in John’s presence as well.

And yet, their relationship had not tipped over into the physical or unambiguously romantic. Admittedly, Sherlock was tired of waiting. Some of his new masturbatory habits came from an actual obsession with John and his undefinable scent, and some of it was purposeful recklessness. There was a part of him that truly wanted to get caught. He was surprised he hadn’t already. If nothing else, Sherlock thought John would perhaps smell evidence of him when he retired to his room at night. But John seemed completely oblivious.

Sherlock bent down and retrieved the jumper John was wearing yesterday out of the hamper beside the bed. This would serve his purposes quite well. Sherlock began to imagine it now as he undressed and crawled into the bed. What if John caught him? What would he say? He’d be shocked, no doubt. Sherlock traced his fingertips along his erection with one hand while holding the jumper to his face with the other. He let his mind wander.

John would stop short in the door. He’d gasp Sherlock’s name. Sherlock would lock eyes with John, knowing that as surprised as he may be, he couldn’t hide how much this turned him on. John would unconsciously lick his lips, reach down to adjust his ample erection. Oh god, maybe he would take out his cock and start stroking it in time with Sherlock.

“Unng, yes, John, touch yourself with me,” Sherlock moaned to the empty room. His grip tightened a bit when he imagined how big John would be. Sherlock knew John was packing enough in his pants that shoving a tire lever down there did nothing to change his walk or stance. And good Lord, John gripping that length and girth with his compact little hands? Sherlock cried out softly as his arousal sharpened. He huffed deep breaths of the jumper, taking in the smell, letting it rush inside of him, consume him. The way John will someday, Sherlock thought hopefully.

Sherlock removed the hand from his cock to grab one of John’s pillows. He pressed it against himself and began rutting against it.

“Oh you like getting yourself off against my things, don’t you?” Fantasy John spoke as he pulled on his thick cock. His voice was hoarse and dirty. “You’re a bad man, aren’t you?”

Sherlock moaned into the jumper. “Yes, John!”

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“No, John, please-!”

“Are you going to fuck my pillow until you come all over it? Are you going to rub your cock into it and spread the come around? Are you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock cried out desperately, feeling like he was being turned inside out. John’s smell was everywhere now, curling around him. “God, yes!”

“Come on then, do it. Come on me. Make me smell like you.”

Oh, that did it. Sherlock’s other hand joined on the pillow and he thrust madly against it. “God, John, make me come. Yes, yes!” The pleasure hit him so hard it was almost painful. Then bliss. Sherlock watched as his cock painted stripes of come all over John’s pillow and his own stomach, watched their scents mix before his very eyes. He kept rubbing his cock into it, even as his orgasm faded, fascinated at the thought of making a permanent mark on John’s pillow.

Finally, he sighed, stretched languidly, and was all ready to clean up when he heard the softest gasp of his name.

“Sherlock-!”

Oh god. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t confirm what he already knew. An odd thrill ran through him even while humiliation bloomed in his cheeks. There was nothing for it. He couldn’t sit here all day staring at the wall of John’s room and hoping he would leave. He didn’t want that anyway.

Gathering every ounce of courage he had, a very naked and come-covered Sherlock Holmes locked eyes with a very shocked and aroused John Watson.


	2. Consequence

A dozen deductions hit Sherlock at once. It was clear John had forgotten his wallet and had hurried back to retrieve it from the kitchen table. He was already stressed thinking about missing his first appointment of the day. The sounds Sherlock was making had drawn John to his own bedroom. Sherlock could see that John had doubted what he was actually hearing, that he thought there was some non-sexual explanation for the cries echoing through the flat. He could see that John had been hesitant to climb those stairs, but was it because he was afraid of being wrong or because he was afraid of being right? Either way, John made it to his doorway, where he was met with the detective crying out his name and covering his pillow with ejaculate.   
  


Sherlock calculated that he and John had been staring at one another in silence for approximately 34 seconds. He wanted to speak, but no words would come. Even if they did, Sherlock had no idea what he would say. John seemed to be in a similar state: incapable of voicing his thoughts. However, his body language was clear. His respiration was elevated. He was nearly panting, in fact. His heart was pounding so hard and fast, Sherlock could see John’s pulse jumping in his neck. His eyes were nearly black with lust. His lips were spit-slick and shiny from running his tongue across them. Perhaps most telling, John’s jeans were quite tented.   
  


Finally, John broke the silence. “Sherlock, what are you…why did you…” John trailed off for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as though in pain, then steeled himself. “How long?” he croaked.   
  


“Twenty-three days,” Sherlock felt a bit afraid, and wasn’t sure why. John didn’t seem angry, but Sherlock felt exposed just the same. And it wasn’t just the fact that he was quite literally exposed, nude and covered in his own semen. It was more than that, deeper. John was going to dig into this. He was going to probe Sherlock until he got the information he was looking for.   
  


John took a small step forward. Sherlock let out a tiny, involuntary gasp. “And…and why? Why all of the sudden would you do…this?” he gestured to Sherlock’s prone form a bit awkwardly, but seemingly no less turned on than he had been a minute ago.   
  


“You leaned over me to fetch the kettle. You smelled good.” Sherlock looked at the come drying on his stomach and smiled sheepishly. “You smelled _very_ good.”  
  


John’s eyes lit up in recognition, and Sherlock felt a bit relieved that the moment resonated with John as well as him.   
  


“You liked that, did you?” John said, taking another step. And then he smirked. He downright _smirked_ , and suddenly Sherlock felt shy and wrong-footed. He felt like retreating and he wasn’t sure why.   
  


John saw it and closed the distance swiftly, capturing Sherlock’s face in his hands and locking eyes with him. “None of that, now, Sherlock. You have _no_ _idea_ - ** _none_**!-how long I’ve been waiting and hoping that I would have some sort of impact on you.  
  


"I’ve been trying to get close to you for months, since I moved back in, actually. And I wasn’t sure how to do it.” John’s hands stroked down Sherlock’s cheeks to his neck, then up the back of his head into his hair, gripping lightly, then came to rest on the sides of his face again. “I thought proximity might work. If I could find ways to physically close the distance between us in ways that appeared casual, maybe…” John’s eyes searched Sherlock’s. “Maybe things would evolve between us. I just didn’t imagine _this_ would be how it would happen,” John said, chuckling at the state they were in.   
  


Sherlock lifted his hands and curling his fingers around John’s wrists. He squeezed and pressed his forehead to John’s. His cock was beginning to fill out again. He took a deep breath and let it out.   
  


“I know this crosses some boundaries-” John let out a snort, “-okay, all the boundaries,” Sherlock conceded. “I couldn’t help it. I wanted a way to connect with you, to take you into me in some way,” John breathed harshly and brushed his nose to Sherlock’s, their lips only a few centimeters apart. “It only took once to realize that I wanted all of you. I want everything.”  
  


John made a pained noise and closed the distance between them, licking into Sherlock’s mouth with no preamble, easing him back down onto the sheets. Sherlock gripped John’s shirt, desperate to have him closer. And for that matter, why was John still wearing a shirt?  
  


“Get this insufferable thing off,” Sherlock growled. Well, _attempted_ to growl, anyway. It came out sounding more like a whine. John didn’t seem to mind though.   
  


“God, yes,” John leaned back and unbuttoned his shirt swiftly, yanking his arms out of the sleeves and tossing it across the room. Sherlock let out a giggle at John’s eagerness. John grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Sexy, aren’t I?” he said as he added his t-shirt to the floor and began undoing his jeans.   
  


Sherlock stilled. Yes, John was being a bit silly, but he was still **_JOHN_**. Wonderful, perfect, _sexy_ John. Sherlock thought he might never have this, and now it was right here in front of him.   
  


“Yes, you are,” he whispered as John finished divesting himself of clothing. John’s eyes grew impossibly soft and warm. He lifted one of Sherlock’s wrists to his mouth and kissed the inside.   
  


“I hope you know how beautiful you are,” John said, his mouth returning to Sherlock’s and pressing a soft kiss there. “I hope you know how much I love you.”  
  


Hearing those words from John nearly undid him right there. He wanted to return the sentiment, but most of the air was sucked from his chest, and all he could manage to eke out was a whimpered “Show me.”   
  


“Yes,” John said and pressed Sherlock back down into the mattress, warm and erect and so very, very _naked_. He pinned Sherlock’s arms above his head and interlocked their fingers. They kissed heatedly, moaning softly as their tongues sought each other’s. Sherlock was now fully hard and beginning to leak; John’s large cock was slotted alongside his and adding to the wetness between them.   
John’s mouth broke apart from Sherlock’s and he began to kiss down his neck, lapping and nibbling at the flesh. Sherlock could tell that John wanted to do more.  
  


“John, mark me. Make me yours.”  
  


John groaned and attached his mouth to Sherlock’s throat, beginning to grind against him a bit and sucking furiously.   
  


Sherlock writhed beneath him, wanting to thrust upward but unable to with John’s weight pinning him down. The pressure of John’s body and cock against him was building the tension in Sherlock. He wanted desperately to come. He felt wild with it. He wanted to smell like John, though Sherlock realized that he didn’t feel that obsession with John’s smell anymore because he had the real thing. John loved him, and he had him now.  
  


“Touch me, John. Please,” Sherlock realized the pitiful, pleading voice was his own.   
  


John lifted his face from the crook of Sherlock’s neck, looked into Sherlock’s eyes, and licked his lips. “I’ll do you one better,” John said and began crawling down Sherlock’s body until his head was between Sherlock’s thighs and his mouth was hovering over the flushed, shiny head of his cock. Sherlock was resting his weight on his elbows but he was shaking with tension and could hardly hold himself up. When John swallowed him down a moment later, Sherlock cried out and fell back against the pillow, his hands scrabbling at John’s shoulders and the back of his head, not pressing but needing some sort of anchor, afraid he may actually be about to leave his body and float away.   
  


John sucked him in long, wet pulls, swirling his tongue around the head of Sherlock’s cock on each pass. One hand pressed lightly against his sack and the other circled around his shaft and squeezed gently. Sherlock was making a rather embarrassing amount of noise, groaning and grunting and shamelessly begging John to make him come.  
  


John moaned around Sherlock and tightened the hand that held his erection while moving his other hand from Sherlock’s bollocks to his own aching cock. He jerked them both and sucked hard. Sherlock’s thighs shook and his arsehole clenched as orgasm crashed over him in a hot, hard wave and he unloaded into John’s mouth, screaming out the pure ecstasy of the moment.  
  


John pulled his mouth off while Sherlock was still coming. Sherlock’s eyes slid to John where he was up on his knees, his hand pulling and twisting, hips pumping, biting his lip, watching the last of Sherlock’s emissions spilling out of his cock, watching the look of euphoria on Sherlock’s face with half-lidded eyes. Then John’s rhythm faltered, he jerked twice more, stiffened, then Sherlock watched in delight as John’s cock began to spasm and pulse, ropes of come spurting out and landing on Sherlock’s stomach. John let out a long groan of relief as he rode out his pleasure, easing back down onto Sherlock when his climax finally ebbed.   
  


Both of them breathed hard, John’s head resting on Sherlock’s chest, Sherlock’s arms wound around John’s back. “That was amazing,” John panted.   
  


“Agreed,” Sherlock said, realizing that he was actually having trouble forming coherent thoughts at the moment. His brain felt sluggish, but in a comforting sort of way. He knew he could trust John enough to be vulnerable and let go of the genius sometimes.  
  


“We should mess up your bed next time.”  
  


John said those words and Sherlock realized there would be a next time. In fact, there would be a lot of next times. This was the rest of their lives now, wasn’t it? They’d finally figured it out, and these moments of true intimacy, both physical and emotional, would be their future. Their reward.   
  


Sherlock stretched down and placed a kiss to the top of John’s head.  "Next time, then.“ Drowsiness was setting in now, the pleasant lethargy of a post-orgasmic high. But Sherlock had one more thing to say.   
  


"John?”  
  


“Mm?”   
  


“I love you.” he could feel John smile against him.  
  


“I love you too.”  
  


They slept.


End file.
